


like strawberries in the summertime

by museicalitea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:12:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what Narita leaves behind, no matter how much older he gets, with Kinoshita there, some things will stay the same—laughter, and extra pickled ginger; sunshine smiles, and being just a little bit in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like strawberries in the summertime

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in celebration of Narita's birthday! Happy birthday, my lovely boy - may you get to play again many, many times.
> 
> Just for clarification: Narita and Kinoshita are third-years in this fic, and you can read this as purely platonic if you wish. It's kind of borderline, so do as you will.

Last week’s oppressive heat wave is gone, and the summer sun beams down on Narita, warm and bright on his skin. His t-shirt—Shin’s t-shirt, really, and too big for either of them—flaps as he walks, and it feels so good to be _walking_ , to be outside with no walls or air-conditioners or pencils or books or _anything_. He digs his thumbs into the pockets of his shorts and rolls his shoulders back. The base of his neck is too tight, too stiff, and he can almost hear the dull clicks as he tries to ease out the tension.

“You okay, Kazu?”

Narita turns his head, and remembers at the last second that now he has to look down that much further to meet Kinoshita’s eyes and not his hairline. Kinoshita’s face is happy, relaxed. He’s not smiling—not trying to, anyway—but his mouth rests with the right side just a little more turned up, and it sets his whole face aglow.

His hair glints in the sunlight. It’s not golden, or even very blonde, but it shines when the sun catches it a certain way in the low hour just before sunset, or when there are no clouds in the sky at all—or maybe Narita only notices it sometimes, and thinks it looks very beautiful.

He shakes his shoulders out and nods. “I’m all good. Just stiff.”

“You need to get out of your house more, Kazu,” Kinoshita says for the fourth time since they headed out, turning around and walking backwards with his arms spread. “It’s _summer!_ We’re on vacation! You can’t stay inside and keep doing nothing but study for the next two weeks!”

Narita raises an eyebrow at him. “I have to get started now, or I might fall behind.”

“No way,” Kinoshita says, and his voice is a challenge. “You’re top of Class Four, and you think you’re gonna fall behind? Kazu, there’s _no one_ else at school who’s gonna be locked up in their room all summer! Besides.” His voice softens, and his steps slow. “You could come out with us to the park to do two-on-twos. Tanaka and Noya miss you, and…” He shrugs. “Practice isn’t the same without you there. It’d be fun.”

Narita presses his lips together and looks away. His throat tightens, and again—for the thousandth time—a sick swell of regret courses through his stomach. _Please don’t try to talk me into coming back, I want to but **don’t** , I can’t, please, pleasepleaseplease—_

“Kazu?”

Narita swallows and looks up, because Kinoshita’s voice isn’t happy, and _god_ , he doesn’t want today to spiral into regrets and arguments or anything—but Kinoshita’s eyes are wide and his mouth tight, and in two strides he walks back to Narita and grabs his hand.

“Hey, I—shit, I’m sorry,” Kinoshita says, squeezing Narita’s hand. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Narita says. He squeezes back. Kinoshita’s hand is warm and firm in his, the tape on his fingers where he’d jammed them the other day rough against his palm. “It’s fine.”

_We’re fine._

And something changes and loosens in the set of Kinoshita’s shoulders, like he’d delved into Narita’s brain and soul and found his quietest, most private, most powerful thoughts. That’s probably what happened, Narita thinks. He’s always suspected that Kinoshita knows how to read minds or something. At the very least, he seems to know what Narita’s thinking most of the time.

That’s alright by him.

Narita eases his hand out of Kinoshita’s—and it feels so empty, it’s weird but holding Kinoshita’s hand felt so very _right_ —and gently socks his shoulder. “C’mon, I’m starving. We going to get sushi or what?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kinoshita grins, and his eyes light up suddenly. “Race ya!” And he takes off.

Even in sandals and under the hot midday sun, Kinoshita is fast. Narita picks up his speed and chases after him, but doesn’t try to catch up. It’s only been six weeks, but already he feels a burn in his muscles and a strain to his lungs that he hasn’t felt after so little exertion for a couple of years. Maybe he _should_ get outside more.

Ahead of him, Kinoshita suddenly lowers his upper body and sticks his arms out behind him. He looks ridiculous and honestly, he’s acting like he’s seven, not seventeen—but he keeps running. Narita sniggers, and then as Kinoshita begins to zig-zag over the pavement, he stumbles to a stop and doubles over laughing.

“Naruto?” he calls. “Really?”

Kinoshita wheels around and shrugs, his smile wide and pleased. “How else do you think I learned to run so fast, egghead?”

Narita can’t stop laughing even as he pushes himself upright and walks to catch up to Kinoshita. Kinoshita doesn’t stop smiling the entire time.

They walk the rest of the way into town side-by-side, not really talking, but that’s okay. Sometimes it’s nice when they don’t have to talk. When it’s just them, and they don’t need words to convey being happy, or needing to walk a little closer together, or anything at all.

Narita’s favourite sushi place is the fourth shopfront down, and both of them sigh in relief when they get under the awnings over the street. Kinoshita bounces on his toes as he walks and amidst his chatter, Narita notices that the back of his neck is sunburnt. He really needs to tell Ennoshita to start packing sunscreen when they go out to the park with Nishinoya and Tanaka for extra practice.

_Or you could go with them. Have fun, enjoy your last summer with them._

It isn’t a decision, not yet. But even so, some of that swirl of guilt fades and settles at the idea.

At the sushi bar, Kinoshita takes five minutes to decide what he wants—which is surprisingly fast for him. Narita orders right away: inarizushi and tamago nigirizushi, with extra pickled ginger on the side.

Once Kinoshita has finally decided what he wants (Narita doesn’t really pay attention to his order, because he’ll just change it next time), and orders it with “a lot of extra pickled ginger, please!” (Narita could recite that part off by heart), they sit down. The sushi bar is cool and light, and the only other people in it are a group of boys Narita doesn’t recognise. They’re alone, and it’s kind of nice. Narita closes his eyes for a moment and breathes out, and now, for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel stressed or tired or guilty or any of that. He’s content. He’s happy.

And if Kinoshita hadn’t texted him an hour ago, suggesting they go get lunch together, he doesn’t know if he would’ve been. Even today.

Once their sushi arrives, they put their hands together and say a quick “Itadakimasu”. Narita then snaps a pair of chopsticks apart and transfers most of the ginger on his plate to Kinoshita’s.

“Because,” he says when Kinoshita looks bemused at this, “you always steal mine anyway even when you ask for extra. You’re not even supposed to put it _on_ the sushi—”

“But it tastes better that way!”

Narita busies himself with adding wasabi to the inarizushi, and when he looks up, Kinoshita has picked up a piece of sushi—salmon nigirizushi—with his fingers. Narita snorts at the obnoxious amount of ginger piled on top of it.

“That is _not_ how you eat sushi,” he says, fighting back a laugh.

“This is the _best_ way to eat sushi,” Kinoshita says. He raises the sushi towards Narita, huffs out a laugh—and all of a sudden he’s smiling Narita’s favourite smile—the one where his eyes get all soft and fond and the lop-sidedness of his smile is so very pronounced and he looks happy and so very, very _beautiful._

“Happy birthday, Kazu,” he says.

A warmth spreads through Narita, and it brings a smile to his face as he lifts a piece of tamago sushi off his own plate.

“Thank you,” he says.

They bump their sushi together, laugh, and start to eat.


End file.
